


Brushstrokes

by Alania



Series: Ashes, Ashes [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Last Jedi - Fandom
Genre: Ben Solo is a nerd, Body Calligraphy, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Force Bond (Star Wars), Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Post-TLJ, Reylo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 19:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13417992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alania/pseuds/Alania
Summary: Three letters. They spelled out her name. They hovered there on the viewport, giving her enough time to lean in and inspect them. Her hand lifted tentatively, and curious fingers reached out in preparation to touch. Before she could, they disappeared.Erased from existence, they left her with nothing to look at but the constant blur of hyperspace in front of her.She flopped back down into her seat, stared wide-eyed out into the distance, her heart thudding at the confusion she felt. It was the first time she’d feltanythingsince…The thrill slowly bled away.





	Brushstrokes

It wasn’t enough to simply make believe she didn’t want to see him anymore.

It was exhausting, focusing all of her energy on keeping the bond between them closed. He gave her no relief, no chance to relax. She couldn’t imagine he was getting anything productive done on his side, when all she ever felt was the quiet thump of his power, trying to reach her. He could knock on closed doors all day long if he wanted - she wasn’t going to let him back in.

Inevitably, this took a mental and physical toll. She slept more, despite how fitful and nightmare-laden it had become. And it was only when she was unconscious that she couldn’t block him anymore. Then, and only then, did Ben get to see her.

The moment she began to wake up again, her first thoughts were always of him. Her second - of shutting him out again. If she knew of him coming to her at night, her only indication was the speed with which she shut him out again as she woke.

She would disappear from his sight entirely, leaving him pounding away at that door.

He was relentless, and she was stubborn. These tactics were proving themselves a pointless waste of time for them both.

It was Hux who’d actually managed to advise Kylo, on accident of course. In his dedication, Kylo had become distracted and unresponsive. Hux was the type of man who could recognize that exhaustion in Kylo’s eyes, and understand there was a problem. He knew, better than anyone, the deep toll a position of authority could take on a man. Without any knowledge of exactly what Kylo was fighting, he could still recognize that the man was being a _brute_ about his struggle.

Hux dismissed the officers that he’d called to order for a strategic meeting, sending them off with a sharp wave. When Kylo moved to walk away, Hux laid a hand on his chest and stopped him from moving. The touch was so highly unwarranted that Kylo snapped his gaze up, glaring dangerously at the General.

The hand dropped.

“Whatever is keeping your mind from winning this war has to stop.” Hux said. His voice was a reprimand, but a quiet one said under his breath. The last thing he needed was for Kylo to send him flying into the control panels again.

“And if it is to stop, then I suppose you need to conquer it. Might I suggest you reconsider whatever method you’re currently employing? You look as though you haven’t slept in weeks.”

Hux could see his last words were being taken as an insult, and his voice quickened in an effort to keep from being manhandled. “I only know this because I’ve been in your position, Ren. I understand how easy it is to let something eat at you from within. I am simply suggesting you find a way to work _smarter_ , not _harder_. And - get it done quickly. You’re not making this transition any easier on us by being mentally unstable.”

Kylo hadn’t said a word. In the moment, all he could think of was wordless rage towards the man trying to give him advice. Later, when Hux had escaped him unharmed and he was left to his own thoughts, he realized the value in the General’s words. 

He also enjoyed some subtle humor in knowing that General Hux had just unwittingly given him love advice.

If this worked, and Rey accepted his offer one day, he might think to tell the man of his unintentional help - if he hadn’t killed him by then.

With a sigh of relief, his constant barrage on the blockades Rey had placed between them finally stopped. If he was going to reach her, he was going to have to learn to be smarter about it. 

And when he finally gave himself time to meditate on it, an idea formed that just might have a chance to work.

* * *

Rey dropped the fork she’d been shoveling dinner into her mouth with when she felt it. The clatter made the occupants of the kitchen look up at her, curious as to why her eyes had just gone round and her face seemed to smooth in relief. She had no explanation for her reaction, or for suddenly pushing her plate away and standing up

“I—” She stuttered out. “I have to go—Lie down.” She pointed towards the bunks, opened her mouth as if to explain further, and then shut it again when nothing came out.

She turned around and bolted towards the bunks, leaving those who’d been eating with her to stare wordlessly at the sudden departure.

She shut herself away in her bunk and crawled into bed, searching for any sign that this was a trick. She scoured her mind, looking for any trace of him, and came up gloriously empty.

A thought sizzled through her, forcing a painful pang through her heart. Was he _dead_? 

Was that why he’d stopped?

But just as quickly as the thought had come, came the next; she could feel that he wasn’t. The Force between them hadn’t been severed—he’d just stopped trying to barge his way back into her life. He’d given up.

He’d... given up.

All that adrenaline from her earlier joy began to seep away when the words took on a different meaning. One that felt cold, and left her shuddering with loneliness. She shook her head, trying to force herself back to the relief she’d felt when she first realized he had gone. That was the correct response. The only acceptable response. She had to cling to it, and refuse anything else.

She had to try.

That night Rey cried herself to sleep, curled up in a tight ball under her covers. When she woke up, her instincts forced her to try and block something that was no longer there, leaving nothing but the melancholy from the night before to return in full force.

He’d given up on her.

She thought she’d given up on him first. Hadn’t that been the whole point of this? Locking him out, forcing him to understand that she had no hope for him anymore? Wasn’t this what she wanted?

The heartache, the utter mourning of her heart and soul, betrayed her with the truth. She hadn’t given up on him at all.

She never could.

* * *

Rey’s mind had been on autopilot for days. She woke up, she ate, she slept, and she slowly began to pull away from the people she now considered her family. She had less to say to them with each passing day, as the world began to tinge with grey around the edges. She did her duty for the Resistance. For the Light. She did what she had to do.

And she slowly lost bits of herself in the process.

It was only a few days, but they’d taken their toll. Before Finn could finally confront her about it, something else came along to chase away the numbness. 

She was piloting the Falcon through hyperspace when she first saw them. She’d been staring straight ahead, her eyes unfocused and half-lidded. There was nothing out there, and she appreciated the sentiment. It reminded her of how she felt ever since she’d shut him out.

Her view of the light blue streaks outside of the viewport was interrupted by elegant little black strokes. She thought they were a trick of the light, for one single moment. When they lengthened into recognizable letters, she jolted in her seat. Her back went rigid with tension as she stared incredulously. Whatever illusion she was suspiciously witnessing shuddered like holographic images before they settled into opacity against the glass.

The writing was stylized in a manner she’d never seen. It looked so ornate and foreign that she wondered if she was hallucinating them.

Three letters. They spelled out her name. They hovered there on the viewport, giving her enough time to lean in and inspect them. Her hand lifted tentatively, and curious fingers reached out in preparation to touch. Before she could, they disappeared.

Erased from existence, they left her with nothing to look at but the constant blur of hyperspace in front of her.

She flopped back down into her seat, stared wide-eyed out into the distance, her heart thudding at the confusion she felt. It was the first time she’d felt _anything_ since…

The thrill slowly bled away.

* * *

The next time she saw the mysterious symbols was less convenient. The Falcon was filled with a dozen or so Resistance, all of whom had decided this was as good a day as any to try and become more social. They’d gathered around on the floor of the loading deck together, bundled in blankets and strewn out against one another for warmth. Rey was leaning against Finn’s shoulder, but even then she felt distant, like she could have been missing from the group and no one would notice. Finn’s arm was a firm presence around her waist, but it did nothing to keep her grounded.

They were sharing stories. Some had been sad, most had been funny, but everyone felt obliged to contribute. When they reached Rey, she didn’t even realize it was her turn. The group fell into an awkward silence, as none of them felt comfortable forcing her the way they’d teasingly done to everyone else.

Finn nudged her head with his shoulder to get her attention. She looked up at him, and then caught on to the mood the group had fallen into as they watched her with a mixture of trepidation and expectation. It clued her in to what they were waiting for.

“Oh.”

She breathed out, digging through her memories for a story she thought might interest the group. She hadn’t lived an exciting life, the way most of them had. The most interesting things that had happened to her were either tragic or horrifying. She didn’t want to share a story like that, now.

“I had an Alliance helmet.” She started out. “Back home. I found it in the remains of an X-Wing. Captain Dosmit Ræh owned it. Sometimes I would wear it, when I was practicing how to fly on the flight simulators I scavenged off dead ships. So I guess I used to imagine I was up here, flying with all of you, even before I knew you.”

The anecdote managed to turn a group of hesitant friends into an enraptured crowd, and when Rey caught sight of the wideness of Poe’s grin, she blushed and helplessly grinned herself. Someone let out a tiny cheer, and the group laughed away the last of their trepidation.

It was the first time she’d managed to connect with the members of the Resistance. Even if it was just a small thing, it felt so good to finally be able to smile with them and to share in the bonds they were creating. She had no reason to be lonely now. No reason to think of him.

Graceful strokes of black appeared in the air, just above the middle of the circle. Rey’s smile disappeared when she saw it, carefully plotting out letters all down in a row. It was clear by the way the others kept talking that she was the only one who could see it, and she watched each letter settle a growing weight in her heart. The sounds around her waned as her attention was lost.

The curiosity was over. She knew where the letters were coming from now. She could almost hear the sound of the word, transported back to the moment he’d whispered it.

_Please._

She wasn’t free, after all.

And worse than that, she had to come to terms with the truth of how she felt about it. She should have been enraged that he’d just stolen this first step she’d taken towards having a normal life with the Resistance. She should have been so many things other than relieved. So many other things.

But relief, bright and violent, bursting from her heart, was all she had left to feel.

* * *

The messages came much more swiftly after that. 

He never reached out for her through the bond she could still feel humming between them. He never forced his voice or the sight of him on her again. Despite that, he wished her a good morning every time she opened her eyes, and good night when she curled back up in bed again. She longed for the nights when their bond had been strong enough to let them fall asleep beside one another, but there was something less dangerous about this gentler alternative. She never felt like she was being torn away from her life in the Resistance, and her choice to fight with them. She did not feel like he was constantly on her heels, begging her to reconsider. He reached out to her with benign words, drawn up in letters so lovely she wondered if the creation of them was part of the trick itself. Sometimes she found herself responding to him out loud. She wasn’t sure he could hear her, but that felt preferable in truth. Here, responding to letters in the air, she could be honest with herself.

And it seemed like he’d found a way to be more honest with his own feelings this way, too.

_I miss you._

She rolled her eyes, and followed the trail of the long tapering curlicue at the last letter with her fingertip. “You should stop being so damn stubborn and come here then. I wouldn’t let you miss me anymore.”

The words shimmered out of view, disappearing without any answer. She let out a deep, satisfied sigh. This was _vastly_ preferable to the alternative.

Being honest out loud was both harmless, and deeply gratifying.

She woke up one morning, and instead of his typical greeting, she found a picture painted against the wall. The strokes were still thick and elegant, minimalistic but clear in their intent; some kind of flower, with great big swaths of petals that bloomed outward as thick as pouting lips. She’d never seen a flower like that before.

“It’s lovely.” She muttered to no one. “But it could do with a bit of color.”

She stretched out her limbs and yawned before crawling out of her bed to start the day. When her back had turned, the petals had begun to fill in a thick, rich red.

She headed for the refresher unaware, and the image behind her shuddered faintly before it disappeared.

* * *

Lines of black were dancing in her vision just above her head. She was giggling, following their movements with her fingertips as they swayed and swooned playfully. There were no words this time. The lines were simply dancing, capturing her attention with their gentle frolic.

“Where did you learn to write like this, I wonder?” She asked out loud, when several of the lines circled around to form her name, only to break apart again. “It doesn’t seem like you.”

The dance stilled, and the images above her began to disappear. In their place, a new word was being written. She could see each stroke as he wrote them, long and purposeful. 

_Mother._

Rey’s hands fell, gripping the sheets for purchase as though she was scared she would suddenly float away. Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest as she considered the two possibilities here.

Either Ben was thinking of his mother for his own reasons, or Ben was _responding_ to her. Which meant he could _hear_ her. Had _heard_ her. All this time.

But there was no real choice. She knew the answer the moment she reached inward to feel their bond, thrumming powerfully. Just as open as it had always been. Of course he’d heard her. He’d heard every word.

She tried, with little success, to act like she hadn’t just figured that out.

“Did... Leia teach you to write like this? When you were young?” She asked, her voice shaking uncontrollably.

The word was wiped clean from view, before a shorter one slid letter by letter into the air.

_Yes._

She tried to imagine it. Her eyes closed and tightened, forcing herself to envision a younger Leia gripping a boys hand, turning it in circles until the lines came out thick at just the right parts. She could hear that sharp voice of hers, telling him just how to do it. But no matter how hard Rey tried, she couldn’t imagine the boy himself. 

She opened her eyes.

“Why?” She asked. “What did she think you would get out of it?”

The pause after her question was unbearable. She gnawed at her lower lip, impatiently wondering if he would ever answer, before the black strokes returned. They weren’t as perfect, this time. She could see flaws in each stroke, as though his hand was shaking. His answer hurt to write. It hurt Rey even more to read it.

_Peace._

She felt her eyes prick with the threat of tears. How could they be enemies, driven so far apart by their conflicting beliefs, when peace was all she’d ever wanted, too?

“And now?” She laughed, even as the tears shook free and tickled her cheeks. “Is it working?”

He waited what felt like another lifetime before answering. His strokes were clear again, but less ornate. He wrote for emphasis, now.

_No._

She could feel her next question bubbling out of her lips before she had the time to think about it. She should have known not to ask him this, should have known what to expect in response.

Maybe she did. Maybe that was why she asked anyway. She refused to think about that.

“What will it take then? What, Ben? What’s going to bring you peace?”

On the surface, she’d convinced herself that his answer would be power, or domination, or control. These were the things he’d fought for. Killed for. Given her up for. It had to be the only answer he had left to give. There was nothing else but his fight for control.

But deep down inside of her, where she refused to dig, she knew there was another answer.

If he could have filled the entire room with the word, she was sure he would have. Instead, she imagined him slicing a brush in giant sweeps, with letters that rivaled the size of her entire body. He meant to make a point, and he succeeded when she had to crawl off of her bed and back away just to read three simple letters.

**_YOU._ **

It was a grand gesture, and it hit the mark so hard it made her knees tremble. She barked with laughter and immediately covered her mouth at the sound of it. She wanted that answer. Force help her, it was awful and she would regret it for the rest of her life, but she _wanted_ that answer. 

She reached out, and the Force took her to him without hesitation. She saw him sitting shirtless in his room, his head bent down between his legs. There was a dripping black brush on the ground, but his palms were also covered in ink.

She could hear a soft, shuddering sound from him with every breath he took. 

His head snapped up, suddenly painfully aware that the Force had linked them once more, and his eyes welled up with tears at the mere sight of her. He planted his hands down on the ground to push himself up, but she stopped him with the sheer weight of her as she dropped down and collapsed against him. Her arms wrapped around his neck like a vice, and he responded immediately by scooping her up into his embrace and clinging to the remarkable feel of her as though it was all that kept him alive in that moment.

His fingers gripped her shirt, pulling her against him. The fabric was soaked in black further with every touch, but she didn’t care.

She was in his arms.

She cried there. It wasn’t painful, or even uncontrollable. She just let something break, and felt it happen as if she’d been waiting for this moment to cry. She let it come, and he held her through it for as long as she needed him to.

She didn’t know how long she’d been there, when she finally lifted her head and let out a sob-choked chuckle.

“This isn’t going to work for us, is it?” She shuddered out, in a voice less heart-broken than the words should have made her seem. “Are we destined to hurt each other forever?”

“You know that’s not true.” His voice rumbled so deep it vibrated through her, until she could feel it sending tingles through every part of her body. He was so sure of himself, even now. Even after waiting all this time for her to come back to him.

“I don’t know how this can end. I thought I’d seen it. But now...” Her fingers clutched at the fabric of his tunic. It felt so solid, as if he was really there with her. She couldn’t even tell the difference, so she enjoyed that feeling as long as it would last.

His hand brushed across the top of her head, smoothing her hair down over and over. In the silence that followed, Rey finally stilled, and when she turned her head up to look at him, she found a rare peace hiding in the darkness of his eyes.

“My mother.” He began, his voice scratchy with emotion. “Told me... a long time ago, something I’m going to tell you now. So don’t laugh at me for this.”

She laughed, simply because he’d said not to. He scolded her with a look, but continued regardless.

“Hope is like the sun. If you only believe in it when you can see it-”

Rey surged forward, silencing him with a desperate press of her lips to his. He faltered before returning her passion, confused and bewildered as he was. When he finally began to lose himself to her, she broke away and breathed against his lips with shallow, shuddering breaths. Her forehead pressed hard against his in newfound determination, and she finished Leia’s words for him.

“You’ll never make it through the night.”

A puff of hot air hit her when he snorted in weak amusement.

“You’ve heard it then.”

Rey smiled. It wasn’t just any smile. It broke his heart, leaving him utterly helpless when he saw it. If she’d asked him again to turn, right in that moment, Ben feared he would have immediately said yes.

Instead, she kissed his lips one more time. When she looked down at him, he saw the hope _and_ that same stubborn strength shining full power in her eyes once more.

She would never join his side.

He would never join hers.

Whatever their future might have in store, those two options were not involved in it.

“Will you teach me the way you write?” She asked, avoiding the inevitable truth they’d simultaneously come to terms with, in that same moment. “With the pretty lines?”

He brushed a line of ink down the curve of her jaw, and nodded as his half-lidded eyes wandered the length of it before soaking in the sight of her locked willingly in his arms. 

“If it means you won’t shut me out again,” He whispered, “I’ll give you everything I’ve got.”

* * *

The First Order had stopped chasing after the paltry remains of the Resistance. But they still claimed rule over the known galaxy, making their powerful presence known in every way possible. As for the Resistance, they had taken sanctuary in a well-defended base, brewing long terms plans to rebuild in relative safety. It was a strange co-existence, with neither side interested in returning to war so soon. But both sides knew, one day, this tense and uncomfortable cease-fire would come to an end.

Until then, Ben and Rey made the most of it.

“What are you writing?” She asked. Ben was painting broad strokes on her bare back with a thick brush that tickled at her skin. 

“You'll see.” He told her. 

When he was done, he kissed beneath her shoulders and freed her from the weight of his upper body against her naked rear. She waited for a tick before climbing out of bed and running to the refresher to crane her head over her shoulder and try to read what was now painted and dripping down her back.

“Ben.” She whined from the refresher. He came to her call, standing behind her as she twirled and twirled in vain. “I can’t see it. And besides, the mirror’s got it all backward. Just tell me!”

He held her to stop the twirls, and bent his head down to meet her forehead with his own. Her eyes had that twinkle of mischief that ruined her chances of lying to him.

“You already know what it says.” He murmured, his lips pursing in annoyance. “You followed the lines in your mind as I wrote them.”

He could see the brief moment of consideration flash through her mind as she tried to find it in her to continue the ruse, but it never surfaced. Instead, her lips broke into a wide grin of defeat. 

“Say it.” She demanded.

His lower lip disappeared between his teeth.

 _”Ben.”_ Impatience edged into her voice. She placed stronger emphasis on her words. _”Say it.”_

Still, he railed against it. “You already know the truth.” He whispered, cupping her jaw in his hand. Her head turned automatically towards the touch, but her eyes burned with the threat of anger, and he let out a long sigh.

In his sigh, the words she longed to hear escaped. 

“I love you.”

Her expression lit into something near-incandescent, and she bounced up on her toes to steal his lips away from the teeth that had been gnawing nervously at them. He lifted her by the curve of her ass, picking her up to press against his bare body and wrap her legs around him. She kissed him, long and needy, and he told himself he wouldn’t mind if she never stopped.

Because her fingers were tracing patterns against the scruff of his neck, in elegant lines that were impossible to ignore. She didn’t need ink to leave her markings permanently etched on his skin. He knew he would feel them there forever.

_I love you, too._

**Author's Note:**

> So that's the final in this series. Please let me know if you liked it! It's not really meant to be a happy ending, more of an end to this extension of what they get to share before the world inevitably goes to shit again. And of course, it's just having some fun with the fact that Ben had a calligraphy set. How could I not play with that?! So I hope you had fun reading! Thank you so much for all the support and for letting me share my love for these two with you!
> 
> I still take prompts on Tumblr sometimes and I also love talking about literally anything, so feel free to come visit over at [my tumblr](http://every-day-is-star-wars-day.tumblr.com) and send me whatever! THANK YOU!!


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